Dad-- memories of you

💕So, Dad, here we are to say goodbye for now. You always talked about the idea that life wasn’t about reaching a destination, but instead, that life was a journey to be enjoyed while appreciating the small things along the way…And you certainly lived a fulfilling, impactful life where you did appreciate the little things, like when you would draw my attention to the hospital window to notice the clouds, or the birds, or how blue the sky was. You talked about the water and the waves you could see at South St. beach, which, I guess, came from your love of swimming at  Big Glace Bay, where the cool, sometimes frigid temperatures of the ocean water was never even a deterrent for you. Maybe it was the solitude that came with those after supper swims when the beach was nearly empty, but whatever it was, many of your children and grandchildren share that love of ocean waves and the peace that comes with a late day beach trip. Yet I don’t think any of us has mastered your ability to float in the water so effortlessly. I think we were all amazed at how relaxed you were in the gentle waves- you seemed SO relaxed, in fact, we often wondered if you were having one of your famous “grampie Norm naps.” 

Dad, before you leave THIS place, I wanted to take the time to thank you for all the things you've given to your family, and to all those who crossed your path.

One of my earliest childhood memories is of you being my catcher. Before you would leave for school, I would yell to you from the stairs in our front room– I’m ready! Then, in you would come from the kitchen with open arms. I would jump, only a stair or two up from the floor, but then you would say, “Why don’t you move up a little higher?” “Are you sure?” I’d ask. “Yes,” you’d answer, “I won’t let you fall.” 

So I’d climb higher, and OF COURSE you always caught me. I realize now that maybe this was your way to encourage us not to be satisfied with always making the safe choices in life. Those simple jumps into your arms were the beginning of the countless life lessons that would come from growing up in a family with a teacher and a counsellor for a dad, and it was one of the many life lessons I’m so grateful for– you always encouraged me, Merrill, Beth, and David to take risks, knowing that you would always be there to catch us and help us up if we did fall.

But from the comments and stories I’ve heard and read in the last few days, you did that for your school kids, too. You never judged students by the test scores– it was about effort and more importantly, attitude. You did all you could to help them succeed, like the young girl who was too sick to attend school. You would collect homework from her teachers and personally drop it off at her house, and 50 years later, you and mom have both kept in touch with her. She explained to me one day on the phone that she is still so grateful for YOU, dad.

One of the other things that made you such a great counsellor was that you never told kids what they SHOULD do, but you had a way of giving them a “gentle nudge” towards things you knew they COULD do, which was a lot like the way you approached your role as a dad to the four of us. You never scolded us for our grades, which, I’ve learned, David especially appreciated, because he said that although he was worried to tell you about that 6/30 on his university physics test, you said, “Don’t worry, that’s still better than what I got on mine!”

Your parenting approach was always one that didn’t put any pressure on us for academic achievement, thank heavens for that, because Beth was a tough act to follow– I didn’t worry AS much about coming behind Merrill and David! 

Dad, you would always tell us, if that’s your best, then that’s all we ask, but if you think you can do better, then do better! Then, as we got older, you modified your words of wisdom to suit the situation, like when Merrill was the first to leave the nest for university and your advice changed to, “keep your nose clean!” 

You were pretty smart with that parenting stuff, dad– never yelling, scolding, or judging. You chose the approach of, let’s talk about this, or you might throw that “disappointed” word in a sentence if one of us– not saying any names– stayed out too late or maybe had a lapse in good judgment because of that undeveloped frontal lobe we have as teenagers. Not saying it WAS me, but I’ll take one for the team here since Merrill, Beth, and David wouldn’t have a chance to defend themselves…

When it came to your community, dad, you loved to see people do well and to see your community thrive, and we heard that from so many people over the last few days. As a small business owner you saw the importance of supporting local businesses so that they, too, woud be successful. The one thing I think all of us remember though, was your unusual working hours at the store. You would get home from school, have that little after school “Norm nap,’ have some supper, then take off to the store and reopen the doors, only about an hour, or maybe two, after mom had just locked them. “I’m just going to run the vacuum around,” you’d say, and you’d head to Eastern Hobbies, often still sporting your school attire– ALWAYS a short sleeve white Arrow dress shirt, with appropriate tie, sport coat and suit pants, because that was your uniform! Once the vacuuming was done, you then checked the register to ensure the bills were all lined up with heads facing the same way, and heaven forbid if there were any wrinkled bills– you “ironed” those wrinkles right out as you ran the bill back and forth over the straight edge of the drawer! I’ve been told that it was a habit that came from your father and former store bookkeeper, Gramps, and oddly enough, if I’m lucky enough to HAVE more than one bill in my wallet, you know what– the heads are all facing the same way!

As I got older, I began to realize that vacuuming the store was a good cover for you to have a social hour if there were people around. Sometimes it could be a customer in a panic needing just one more ball of yarn to finish a sweater, or a tube of testor’s glue to complete a Revell model they were building. But THEN… then there was the time you took two tourists home for an overnight stay on Catherine St.! They showed up while you were “vacuuming” wondering if there was any place to rent bikes in Glace Bay and if there was a hotel to stay overnight. “Well, there’s no place to rent bikes and no hotel,” you said, “but my wife and I have two bikes home in our shed that you could borrow for the week, and we have an extra room at the house, so I’ll just give Ann a call to let her know you’re coming!” 

Well, I’m not sure #1) how many people would offer two complete strangers to take their bikes for a week and  #2) how many men would be brave enough to call their wives about 5 minutes before two strangers show up at their home to stay overnight! Well, dad, YOU were that man, and lucky for you that mom, from other previous occasions, knew you were THAT man! By the time the two new houseguests made it to 73 Catherine St, mom had a plate of her famous egg sandwiches made up and a place for them to lay their heads–  what an incredible team you two made. 

And that brings me to one of probably the most important things you’ve given us– you and mom have shown us that teamwork does make the dream work! Five years after that first date with mom in November, 1955, you made that lifelong commitment to each other on August 5, 1960 in Warden United Church. You travelled through life with mom at your side, and you were her biggest fan and admirer, as she was yours. And anyone who has seen the pictures of you both together notices “that look” you give each other, that look of deep love and admiration that is so evident in your eyes. When you’d be out together, whether you were going to the rink, soccer field, or school gym to see one of your grandchildren’s events, I enjoyed walking behind you both, watching you hold hands while you were on your way.  As the kids might say today, your relationship with mom is “life goals.” You loved your bride deeply, and always spoke TO her and OF her with love, respect, loyalty and admiration. But again, this was one of your traits that carried over into your daily life, and the many, many people who came to pay their respects to you echoed this very thing– you treated EVERY SINGLE PERSON you met with respect, and a few of your former colleagues from school said, “your father always listened intently to what we had to say and made us feel like we were the most important person in the room.” Turns out, though, that you were ALWAYS watching for people who might need your attention, even if it was outside of school hours. I often wonder about the “young fella” you said you met on a bench during one of your regular walks around Renwick Brook. You told me he was sitting on the bench with his head down, and of course you stopped for a quick chat. You found out that he didn’t want to go home, so your next question to him was about whether he had eaten. “No,” he told you, but I wasn’t at all surprised about what happened next. “Here’s a few bucks,” you said, “so go get yourself some breakfast.” 

But dad, it was all the other quiet acts you carried out that not many people knew about. You did things because they were the right thing to do, never because you wanted the credit or acknowledgement. When I finally got my driver’s license in the late fall of 1976, it was just in time for candy season, that time of year when you would start to build up your Quaity Street candy collection for Christmas. The candy collection eventually grew to taking over space in your downstairs office, and mom said, “I don’t even ask your father who it’s for anymore because he just loves to do it.” So, about a week before Christmas, we’d load up the hatchback of the little blue chevy chevette with the piles of candy, which by this time had also grown to include boxes of toffifee and pot of gold candy. You’d give me the handwritten list of stops to make, which was always copied out on recycled scrap paper from the store, and off I would go. I realized when I got older that this may have been a sneaky little way to have me take the time to get to know the people in town from employees at the bank, the garbage collectors, people at the post office, the drug store, and the officers at the police station! We don’t know exactly how many years this continued, but it was at least 20! Because children live what they learn, there are now other bank employees, drug store workers, postal carriers and police officers who receive treats from us, and I’m sure they’re grateful that you taught all of us the importance of remembering people who, like you, just went about their jobs, but that acts of kindness, big or small, matter to people. Now, when someone says, “you’re just like your dad,” you can see why that’s the highest compliment anyone could pay us. 

Like I told you on my last sleepover with you at Victoria Haven, Dad, you’ve finished your work in this world, we’re all okay, you’ve done an incredible job, your legacy and impact will NEVER be forgotten, and you’ve been the most loving and devoted soulmate to our mom. Merrill, Beth, David and I, and our families, are in great places in our lives, largely because of your love, guidance, and undying support and encouragement, but that lifelong impact also extends to the lives of those who have crossed your path. YOU have made us all proud.

As I finish my thoughts for now, I am also reminded of the constant gratitude you had, even up until your last days, for the people who had a chance to visit with you. I know you’d like to offer the same words of appreciation to your family and friends here today, as well, so at this time, as Dad said, I would like to say “thank YOU ALL for coming and God bless.” Now I say to you, dad, with an endless supply of love and gratitude in my heart, I’m SO proud of the dad you were to us, of the devoted husband you were to our mom, and I’m SO lucky to be one of “Normie’s girls.” It’s safe to say that we were ALL SO glad you were here in this world with us to take us on your journey…. So thank YOU, Dad, from all of us, and God bless. 💝